Nonfuctioning to the most frustrating level
by Paperviolins
Summary: Victoria Black finds herself in a most curious situation; inside one of her favorite shows...


Victoria's head felt like it had been used as a cannon ball.

So not that good, in the scheme of things.

She groaned and scrunched up her face as sound began to permeate through her shield of sleep, light turning the inside of her head a red pink color to her closed eyes.

If it was her room mate with another one of her early morning workout routines Victoria was going to open up a can of whoop ass on that chick's perky, smiling, morning face. By that she meant that she'd passive aggressively ask her to take her healthy habits into another dorm room.

Oh yeah, she was one hardcore girl.

So with her head feeling like it was full of water she slowly clawed her way into a sitting position, dragging her traitorous and lifeless body behind her, gravity fighting her every inch. Gravity could be such a dick sometimes. In her slow upward battle her cheek was pulled against firm embroidered fabric from whatever she was laying, which was not the fabric of her bed.

She had gone to bed in her bed.

She was not there now.

That was mildly concerning, she thought, pausing in her attempt to sit up.

She opened her eyes, the sound of muffled talking now becoming clear to her cotton filled head, though still hard to make out, and after a few painful, light filled blinks she began to take in her surroundings. It looked like a living room, from her sideways angle, though it was covered in stacks of paper and the occasional clothing item. The walls were covered in black and white floral-like designed wall paper which accented the elegant furniture, stuff that looked like it would be in a lawyer's office. She took a deep breath and the scent of coffee hit her senses, a strange stale under scent lingering in her nose after analyzing the air, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

So, in conclusion, no. This was not her dorm room.

Victoria felt her heart speed up, though she couldn't tell if it was from unbridled terror or a very small amount of excitement.

At the sound of approaching footsteps she picked one.

It was terror.

"I'm telling you, Sherlock, I couldn't just leave her in the street. Outside _our_ door, for Pete's sake!" a masculine and British voice exclaimed, sounding rather exasperated to her ears.

She assumed the 'She' was her, but that would mean she had somehow made her way to this man's home and passed out in front of his door without knowing. That seemed rather unlikely, for one, the last thing that she remembered was writing her essay for her history course, so she would have had to sleep walk out of her dorm room and to where ever she was now, and she didn't sleep walk.

How the hell did she get here?

She went back over the man's words, the sound of a jiggling door nob and light swearing was the only thing that alerted her to their continued presence.

Sherlock?

Victoria frowned, it couldn't possibly be the Sherlock she knew from TV, that was impossible. He was fictional, no matter how much her fangirl heart yearned for that to be untrue.

So, the seemingly kind man had taken her into his home and left her to rest on his couch and now he was arguing or explaining the situation to his friend with the unusual name of Sherlock.

Seemed legit.

"John, you cannot just let strangers into our home, she could be one of my brother's spies! She could be bugging our flat as we speak!" A sharper voice snapped.

Victoria froze as the door swung open, jaw clenched and heart doing the jive in her throat.

Her eyes scanned over the sight before her in utter disbelief.

She had to be dreaming.

The first man in the room was tall, almost scarily so, with shaggy black hair that seemed to almost look formal on his head, his lean body was covered in a thick black coat .

His skin was pale with sharp cheek bones that jutted out of his face and squinty eyes that rested just above them.

It was a face she knew all too well.

It was a face that she had as her laptop screen saver.

It wasn't possible.

His eyes narrowed in her direction and her breath caught in her throat.

Oh God. Oh merciful heavens. What the fuck was going on?

Then a smaller man came rushing in, eyes soft and face concerned, his light blonde hair mussed up from wind, most likely. He seemed to ignore Sherlock's apprehensive stance and made his way to Victoria's stone still body.

"You're awake, how are you feeling? Do you know what happened?" He questioned softly.

Victoria could only open her mouth and and stare, not unlike a goldfish.

Nor breathing.

It was John Watson.

His knitted sweater only made him look more adorable to her.

She blinked.

Wow, at 20 you'd think her level of literacy was a bit higher than a simple shake of the head. Granted, she was staring at characters from one of her favourite TV shows as they, well John, looked at her in a concerned manner. Sherlock just studied her in a vicious sort of silence, though his face seemed to hold a bit of confusion.

She knew his momentary frustration could not even begin to hope to compare to the planet sized container of questions that filled her awestruck head.

She gasped in air after remembering how to breathe and let it out in a high pitched whine.

"Y..You're John Watson.. And you're Sherlock Holmes... a..are we in England?" She stuttered, her hands twitching as her brain thought away.

John's face frowned lightly and he nodded, "Where else would we be..You're American?"

Victoria shook her head lightly. "Canadian" she practically whispered, in an almost reverent way while staring at the two men before her.

John sat back satisfied, as if her answer had been all he needed to convince him. She's Canadian, she wouldn't hurt a fly, nothing to worry about! Victoria mentally grimaced, that probably wasn't it.

She glanced back to Sherlock, his darting eyes were burning holes into her pale skin and she was suddenly very self conscious. All she was wearing was an oversized black band t-shirt with polar bear pyjama bottoms. They were her comfy clothes to lounge around in while she studied, nothing that was flattering her curvy figure, she just looked a tad bit chubby, she imagined. Her curly hair was a mess too, tied up in loose bun that was on the verge of coming undone.

She couldn't believe this was what she had to be wearing when meeting two of her favorite fictional characters. Her flipping pyjamas.

"Who are you and how do you know who we are?" Sherlock's voice questioned, biting through the awkward silence, his face screwed up in an untrusting scowl.

"Victoria Black..." she murmured, wondering when the hyperventilation would start.

How could she answer the second bit?

'I watch you avidly on a computer screen then go on tumblr to drool over pictures of you'.

Yeah, no.

It was a confused look on Sherlock's face that made his nose scrunched up in such a manner that made her both turned on and in need to hug him.

He waited for the second half of his question to be answered.

The emotional overload then caused a lack of air to reach her lungs.

Starting with a quiet breathy, "I can't fucking believe this.." and followed by a chant of "oh my gods" that stopped when her breathing began to mimic the style pregnant women adopt while in labor, Victoria felt her head get heavy.

And she passed out.

And from what she gathered, that was the second time that day.

Fan-Fucking-Tastic.


End file.
